


Penitent Pleasures

by Nightmist



Series: Errata, Marginalia, Palimpsest [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Bondage, Consensual Kink, Flogging, Impact Play, Light Bondage, M/M, Multi, Power Dynamics, Rope Bondage, Safe Sane and Consensual, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:28:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26828122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightmist/pseuds/Nightmist
Summary: Estinien makes Aymeric a proposition about his desires and the Lord Speaker in turn leads to wield a a flogger for purposes more pleasurable than penitent.
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Estinien Wyrmblood, referenced Aymeric de Borel/Estinien Wyrmblood/Warrior of Light
Series: Errata, Marginalia, Palimpsest [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666165
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	Penitent Pleasures

**Author's Note:**

> In truth, I've had this sitting around mostly complete for awhile for my own entertainment, but it seemed only fair to post it as a Kinktober offering, since I know I do not have the time or energy for another set of daily posts, alas. So you may have this little moment of debauched adoration between my two favorite elezen from my main fic continuity.

Before this request, Aymeric had thought he had known all the dark corners of Estinien's soul, the hidden shadows and crags. Despite that, when his lover comes to him and stutters out the question, lays the length of rope and the flogger on the desk in his office, he finds himself set off balance. (Alright, ‘tis perhaps true that the rope is familiar and no shock. The flogger, however, is something else entirely.) Reaching out, the knight traces the tips of his fingers slowly down the handle. "You want to be punished. For things that you know full well I do not hold against you." He lifts the pale blue of his eyes to catch the night in Estinien's, the dark shadows howling under the icy overhang of his hair.

"It's not an intent to be truly hurt, not like when you were held. Whether you want to punish me or not doesn't really matter, so long as you hurt me _enough_ I can let go of some of the guilt." Estinien's voice is even lower than usual, quieter, the topic clearly an uncomfortable one, and it says a great deal that he even dared to bring it up. Still, no matter how much he has known that the dragoon enjoys caving in and following his lead, this is a firm step beyond the usual boundaries of their pleasures.

Still, Aymeric has to ask, even with his suspicions about the answer. "And why are you coming to me with this request? After all, our little warrior is deadly enough to potentially contain you, if she truly wished to." A brief fire of color burns in two spots over Estinien's cheekbones, there and gone quickly, and Aymeric makes a note to pry the story that implies from one or the other of them later.

"Kohanya doesn't command me. You do." Oh, those are roughhewn words, embarrassed, and clearly true through and through. It lights a bed of coals near the bedrock of him, a low, simmering inferno that can build into so much more, so easily, and Aymeric reaches for Estinien, pulls him close, hands on lean hips.

"You remember what to say if a game goes too far for you, if you change your mind?" Tension first slips from Estinien's body, pressed close to his, no doubt relief at his implied acquiescence to the request. A second later, it promptly returns as what that will actually _mean_ settles into his bones and the dragoon gives a determined nod of his head. Aymeric gives the man's hip a firm pat, his voice now soft but laced with iron. "Up to my room. Get rid of the clothing." A moment of thought, then as Estinien eases away, he adds, "Tie your hair up."

Allowing himself the indulgence of watching the dragoon's retreat, Aymeric waits until he is out of sight to collect rope and flogger, fingering the leather straps of the latter. It is not as harsh a thing as those favored by the inquisitors, but it still will leave marks, and the Lord Speaker is half-surprised to find his manhood stirring with interest at the mental image of Estinien's body, striped and decorated by his hand. Well. He might not be quite as aggressive a biter as his beloved, but he still appreciates knowing that his lovers bear evidence that they are _his_.

Still. As teasing Estinien remains one of his little joys, Aymeric is happy to amble and take his time in heading upstairs, knowing that by the time he gets to his room, the other man will have been long since nude and probably already pacing paths into the carpeting. Sure enough, that is what he finds, sliding the door shut and drinking in the sight of Estinien, clad in nothing but the warm light cast by the fire. Even as the dragoon's mouth opens to no doubt make some smart remark about having to wait, Aymeric interrupts, smiling at him in sinful anticipation. "Good boy. At the foot of the bed, facing it."

He suspects there are very few people who would believe that Estinien can be _obedient_ , and he is the only being in existence for whom the expectation can be that _he_ will be obeyed. Given that, it should be little surprise that the dragoon's movements to stand where directed, his head held high, arms spread to grab opposite bedposts, draws a stronger stirring of his cock, already feeling uncomfortably tight beneath his clothing. With deliberate motions, he steps in closer, pressing his body lightly against Estinien's back as he slowly draws hands up first one arm, then the other, pausing at each wrist to lash them carefully into place. Being reminded that his partner is still fully clothed while he is nude and bound no doubt only enhances the dragoon's sense of vulnerability. Before he steps back again, Aymeric pauses, laying a delicate kiss to the nape of his partner's neck, bared and easier to access now with all those wild silver tangles bound into a high tail.

Stepping away, the knight carefully extends one arm, gripping the handle of the flogger and flexing so the tips brush the floor, making a soft sound. Waiting for the tension to build, he flicks in a judicious blow, aiming for a fairly gentle impact the first time, the soft swat of leather on skin, leaving a delicate pink glow behind. The sound stirs lurking shadows in his memories, but those are of a different place, a different time, a time when the power was not being held in his hands. Not to mention the surprised and demanding groan that leaves Estinien's lips, his voice low and husky after. "More."

"Be _patient_ , love. I have not done this before and I want to take my time in learning." Aymeric scolds gently, although since he is behind the other man who is firmly bound, he is more than happy to allow himself a slight, smug smile as he punctuates his words with another swing, firmer this time. As before, Estinien moans and shifts in his bonds, bracing himself. Gradually, Aymeric begins to find a rhythm to the motions, arm back, swing, heavier and light impact interspersed, aiming away from any spot he was trained to aim _for_ in earlier combat training. Within a few minutes, Estinien's tanned skin is striped in red across the back and buttocks, lines crisscrossing over one another.

It is surprisingly satisfying and appealing. Pausing for a moment, Aymeric reaches to run fingertips along one line, stroking another after but more firmly. The skin is heated beneath his touch, sensitive, as is obvious in the raw, desperate little sound that Estinien makes at the combination of pain and comfort. Swallowing thickly, Aymeric laves his tongue along the side of the dragoon's neck, tasting the saltiness of sweat. "Do you need more, my love?"

" _Please_." Aymeric can't help but lift a brow at the sweet sound of pleading from his stubborn dragoon, and he cannot bear to not press one more kiss to that beautifully bared nape as he steps back. Once more, he unfurls, shifts, draws his arm back…

And settles into a steady rhythm of laying blows over skin and muscle, listening to the taut snap as each impact lands, the lovely way Estinien whimpers or groans with each strike, swaying in the grip of the ropes. He can see that the dragoon is aroused when his pacing takes him to one side or the other, cock curved up towards his belly, a drip of pre gleaming on the tip. Aymeric finds that he _wants_ , desperately, to touch it, to take Estinien, to unwind the stubborn, bristly man around his cock while he is marked and helpless. Biting off a soft curse, he drops the flogger onto a nearby chair and grabs for a bottle of oil.

Returning to his lover, Aymeric leans in to nuzzle at Estnien's neck, pressing a rain of open-mouthed, marking kisses over it. "I need to fuck you like this, love. Is that alright?" The quick jerk of a nod is accompanied by an eager moan and a careful roll of hips, pushing him back against Aymeric's body. Which reminds him that he's still clothed, something he feels a dire need to fix, stepping back to nearly tear his own garments off. As soon as he's bare, the knight steps in again, breath already coming fast and shallow as he draws fingertips along the ridge of Estinien's spine, feeling each warmed patch. At the base, he drips a generous puddle of oil, spreading it downwards with his first two fingers, then rocking the pads of them gently against the tight hole hidden between his rear cleft.

As much as he likes to present himself as largely untouchable, never, in all the years they have been drawn to and with each other, from young knights to a couple struggling against expectations, to fiercely bonded into a triad, has Estinien failed to respond eagerly to the opportunity to have Aymeric take him apart, open and explore his hidden depths. Gently but with clear pressure and demand, he presses in with one fingertip, uttering a low groan at how tightly the other man's opening clutches at his digit. Leaning his forehead to rest against Estinien's shoulder blade, he breathes in the scent of his sweat and the faint woodsy soap he favors underneath. The notion of bathing him later has a certain appeal too, but right now…

Right now, Aymeric is enjoying taking his time gently twisting his finger, then fingers as he works a second in, curling to tease that deep spot to help relax and loosen the dragoon's body. The desire for more seethes low in his gut and he pushes himself for patience, to carefully slide in the third, pushing, prodding, spreading out, leaving slippery traces of oil behind. Estinien's arms keep jerking in the ropes, clearly wanting to reach for his cock to stroke it. Which is admittedly an urge that Aymeric is not without either… Swallowing thickly, he slips fingers free, listening to the almost _keening_ way his beloved objects to the sudden emptiness.

Unable to endure the agony of waiting any longer, Aymeric steps in, one hand helping hold Estinien open for him to drive home and hilt, the other reaching up to fist tightly on silver strands. Wrapping all that moonlight on snow around his hand, he draws back harshly, bowing Estinien's back as he yanks until the slightly taller man's head rests on his shoulder. Grinding his pelvis slowly against Estinien's out-thrust rump, reveling in the tight, hot clutch of his beloved dragoon around him, Aymeric lips lightly at the edge of elegantly tapered ears. "Gods, love, you're that hot because of suffering at my hands?" Curious, he slides his lower hand forward, scraping nails over a well-muscled hip, until he palms over Estinien's length, feeling the steely hardness, the soft ridges and mildly altered shape in the wake of Nidhogg.

"You — fucking _hells_ , Borel! — always make me th-that hard." The little diversion to blunt cussing accompanies his first stroke out and slam back in, Aymeric pressing further kisses to that ear. Cupping the hand over the dragoon's hardness so that the steady drip of pre will be dragged over his palm and fingers, slickening them further, he starts to move in a sharp, steady rhythm, hips snapping forward demandingly, again and again. Each motion works his palm over Estinien's length, and oh, Halone's mercy, he loves the _feel_ of his lover, all heat and the thinnest hint of softness over so much strength and power, and all of it is leashed and directed as _he_ desires, because the man is so purely _devoted_ deep down.

Each thrust in is met with a gasping breath from his partner gaining an increasingly desperate, whining edge as Aymeric speeds up. With Estinien's hair pulled up, and the man bound in place, he has full access to the dragoon's neck, a point of fact that he takes utter advantage of. Teeth drag, nip, leave marks of ownership sharper and darker than the still heated red stripes left by the flogger. He imprints his stamp with lips like sealing a letter, the sigil of his touch, again and again. Muscles flex beneath sweat-beaded skin, and he can feel the tremors in Estinien's shoulders from the way the rope holds his arms up and out, the way he's off-balance enough to sway with every deep press of Aymeric's hips, grinding and working the dragoon's hardness against his palm.

"Are you going to cum for me, love, break and peak all because you're marked by my hand, because you love my cock in your ass, you love fucking _belonging_ to me, don't you?" Alright, it's possible he can get slightly possessive where Estinien is concerned, but with how hard it was to find his way through the man's barriers, he is protective of what he wants to believe he has _earned_. Protective in other ways, too, in truth, since he knows that being like this lowers Estinien's personal protections to let him in and he is determined in all ways to protect that rare and wondrous vulnerability. His hand curls tight, thumb working the flared head of the other man's shaft, circling it and teasing at the slit, trying to lure out the dragoon's peak.

Leaving off his encouraging words, Aymeric bites down over the nape of Estinien's neck, teeth digging in, the man's ponytail swinging and tickling his nose as the silver-haired elezen gasps, bucks, and starts to orgasm in a sticky wash of heat that coats his hand as he keeps stroking him through. Feeling the tightening of that sweet, hot, slick channel and hole around him, the knight slams home in a series of short, deep thrusts until the clutch and the utter presence of _Estinien_ with him, the man's scent in his nose, the taste of his sweat, the uneven appeal of his scarred skin, the way the dragoon's body pulses like it's trying to drag him deeper draws Aymeric unrelentingly to the edge until he floods his partner with liquid heat.

Stilling as he pants softly, hand moving from Estinien's cock to stroke his hip soothingly, Aymeric tries to regain the ability to think rationally, about anything _other_ than being buried where he is, warm and consumed and close. It takes some breaths before the knight can ease himself free, then reach up, tired fingers dragging firmly at ropes to loosen them. The dragoon's arms drop with a soft groan and he sways before the dark-haired man gently nudges him forward and onto the bed, sprawling out in exhaustion and rolling onto his belly to protect his still sore back. With some lingering feelings of guilt, no matter that his beloved did _ask_ for this, Aymeric retrieves a tin of salve from a drawer, starting to slowly rub the herbal-smelling concoction onto the marks on Estinien's back.

The dragoon cracks one eye, peeking back over his shoulder as he whines, "Going to smell like I rolled around in a garden when you're done." Aymeric lightly swats one hand on the dragoon's ass, cupping some of the red stripes after.

"An indignity you will have to endure, because I have no intention of leaving you uncared for." There's a low rumble of discontent, but he also knows Estinien well enough to know that this is posturing. Especially with the way muscles grow lax and relaxed under the soothing touch and unguent, until he can retire the salve, sure that every mark he left has been gently tended to. When he returns, he does his best to pull the sheets and blankets out from under the dragoon, who eventually deigns to move off of them enough to let him.

Settling into the bed and pulling the covers over them both, Aymeric reaches to smooth fingers over starlit silver strands, knowing he is unable to hide the sheer adoration and contentment on his features. "You were beautiful. You are beautiful. But do you feel any more at peace?" He searches Estinien's face as he considers his answer, a slight flush on tanned cheeks before the other man gives a small, embarrassed nod of agreement and shifts to settle a little closer to him.

“I do and thank you for indulging me. There is so much I still…” Estinien’s voice trails off, a touch ragged with lingering vulnerability, the sense of exposure and weakness. Aymeric continues to stroke through the tangles of snow and silver, smoothing them beneath his fingers, drawing out the emotional intimacy as long as he can. A little patience, until the dragoon finds words once again. “I know it may not have made sense, but it feels very comforting to tell myself I make some penance for my difficult self.”

A shake of his head as Aymeric leans in, tucking the covers better around them, the heat of their bodies warming the sheets rapidly. He takes a lingering kiss of Estinien’s lips, brushes them with softness and utter devotion. “You have made enough apologies for the past. We all have. Yet even if I do not agree to a need for penance, I must concede that I enjoyed the methodology significantly more than I expected.”

A smirk twists Estinien’s lips even as he reaches below the blankets, finding the curve of a rump and pinching fondly even as Aymeric squawks his protest. “You just enjoy making those you love happy. I doubt there is much I could ask for you would be bothered by, so long as I was truthful in my pleasure.”

Capturing that wandering hand in his, Aymeric pulls it to his lips, pressing soft kisses over the knuckles. “I do love you, and enjoy making you happy, so perhaps you are not so very far wrong.”

“I know.” Estinien’s agreement is smug, but his smile kind and tender as he shifts, settling so he is mostly on his belly with his head resting on Aymeric’s shoulder, one arm flung across the Lord Speaker’s torso. He hisses a bit as the sheets settle on his still tender back, then relaxes, nuzzling gently. “I love you too.” With Aymeric’s fingers returning to stroking his hair, he begins to slip deeper into relaxation, then gradually, into sleep.

With a contented sigh, Aymeric closes his eyes and lets himself drift away as well, warm and held and comforted.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, want to talk and hang out with other people who love FFXIV fic, whether it be writing it or reading it? Please stop by [The Bookclub](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic) and join us!
> 
> Want to bug me specifically? My various social media can be found via [my carrd](https://nightmist.carrd.co).


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